


Pigeon

by JustWritingCrap



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1990s, Angst, Bisexuality, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Drama, Friendship, Major Tag Update, Secrets, The Golden Trio Era, as close to canon as possible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15331191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustWritingCrap/pseuds/JustWritingCrap
Summary: Rhiannon Jones has returned to a Dementor-surrounded Hogwarts in 1993, four years after she left, under orders from the Wizarding Examination Authority to act as a liaison officer between the ministry and the school to help teaching standards progress. She has a passion for education that is unrivalled by her peers, and she's ready to throw herself into this opportunity. The fact her youngest brother is still studying, in his seventh-year, and the fact she has a long history with the Weasley family may complicate her situation. Another complicating factor is about to arrive in an attraction to one of her previous Professors that both horrifies and excites her. Ultimately, Rhian has no idea that she is about to be thrown into the path of winding fate that would lead to events unimaginable.





	1. A Warm Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> Massive disclaimer, this is literally just me writing my own OC into the Harry Potter universe. I just thought if I'm going to bother writing this magnum opus of crap, I might as well upload it. You can guess a few details from the relationship tags already. All I can say is that I don't plan for my OC to end up with a canon character whatsoever; but then again, this is all being written on a whim so who bloody knows. Grammar/spelling errors will be corrected tomorrow because I want to go to bed now. Anyway, if you do somehow enjoy this, let me know. Yeet.

Surreal. That’s how it felt. It was the only word that came to Rhiannon’s mind as she sat in the staff room, staring at the crackling fire; its embers danced merrily in time with the chatter of their surroundings. It had been only four years since she had left Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and yet, here she was. Sat amongst the professors as though they were her equals. Rhian corrected that absurd thought promptly; she did not come close to the magical skill within the room, and was content with conclusion. After all, she was twenty-two. What did she  _really_  know of magic at this age? Granted, maybe more than _some_ of her peers; but it would take decades before she could match the knowledge of those around her.

While she leant back into the seat of the crimson arm-chair, she fiddled with the sewn initials of ‘WEA’ on the front of her silky navy robes; one of the three sets she had picked out specifically for her placement within Hogwarts. It was her favourite of the three, and went perfectly with the lighter blue of her floral knee-length dress beneath. Madam Malkin had exceeded herself, and had given her a great deal on the trio of robes. Her eyes trailed to the mirror that hung over the fire a short distance away. Her long muddy blonde curls had been pinned away from her slightly rounded face; her green-speckled chocolate eyes shone back at her, accentuated by the mascara she had chosen to wear. Rhian used several Muggle products, a habit she acquired as a teenager as a result of continued friendships with primary school peers during the holidays. After a particularly bad reaction to a wizarding shampoo, she had stayed far away from experimentation. Muggle products were a safer bet, and not even the beauty column in the Daily Prophet could convince her otherwise.

“Rhiannon Jones!” she heard a familiar pert voice ring out from towards the entrance. It suddenly transported her back to first year, being called up to the wooden stool to have the Sorting Hat placed atop her head. The voice could only belong to Professor McGonagall, and Rhian watched her approach wearing a bright smile, and she gladly returned it. Rhian leapt from her seat, and the older woman reached out and clasped Rhian’s shoulder affectionately. “You look ever so grown up” McGonagall admired, wearing a beam akin to a proud parent.

“I hope so, I’m barely older than the seventh-years” she replied with a hint of anxiety that she tried to supress, her thick Welsh accent at a distinct contrast to the rest of the room.  Not wanting her nervousness to be picked up by the head of Gryffindor house, she quickly examined her and broke into a smile. “But where is the legendary start-of-year emerald robe? The sorting won’t be the same”. McGonagall waved her hand with a laugh.

“I’ve been meaning to have it spruced up, I was not aware how legendary it was”. The older woman peered around for a moment, taking a mental note of those who were stationed within the room. With a satisfactory exhale, her eyes met Rhian’s. “I best leave to meet the first years from the boats. The weather is dreadful, they’ll be positively soaked through” she commented with a subtle fondness. Rhian could picture her casting a Hot-Air charm upon the quivering eleven-year olds in one swift motion of her wand. “We’ll have to speak during, or after, the feast” she stated, a command rather than a request.

Rhian nodded, watching the witch glide away back towards the door. The young woman was grateful for Professor McGonagall’s enthusiasm towards her return. However, nothing would beat Professor Sprout’s welcome, a warm hug and a potted plant which emitted soothing light during the twilight hours. Rhian could already picture the plant on the windowsill of her rented room within The Three Broomsticks; her home for the next year. Professor Dumbledore had offered to fashion her a room within Hogwarts during the summer, pushing the suggestion strongly given the presence of Dementors around the grounds. However, Rhian felt as though staying within the school was over-stepping her already privileged mark. He seemed to understand her feelings on the matter, but this was the man that seemed to understand ‘most everyone. Dumbledore was yet to make an appearance today, and she noticed not all the teachers were present. She knew there to be two new members of staff; one for Care of Magical Creatures, the other for Defence Against the Dark Arts. She had been on friendly terms with Professor Kettleburn of the former, but had heard a delightful rumour in the whisperings of the staff that Hagrid would be replacing him. That would be fantastic.

She could have asked for confirmation on this rumour, but Rhian felt a little awkward in approaching her old teachers. She decided to let them come to her, as Professor McGonagall had done. She had to find her place within the workings of the school and did not want to come across as brazen, interrupting conversations or long-time rituals of these teachers who had gone through the start-of-year process for numerous years. Consumed by her thoughts, it was a gentle hand upon her arm that made Rhian come to. She turned to face the kindly expression of Professor Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher. Rhian had never chosen the subject, but always ended up in conversation with the friendly woman about Muggle history if they bumped into each other.

“We’re going up to the Great Hall now, lovely. I think you’ll be sat next to the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher” she explained gently, letting go of Rhian’s arm as the pair made their way towards the door. The pair talked briefly as they climbed the stairs, which led them to a passageway that had two directions. They veered left, following the passage until a door led out into the vast hall. It made Rhian pause, her eyes drifting instinctively upwards towards the ceiling which glowed with the light of hundreds of candles, bobbing pleasantly in their suspended positions. The sky they illuminated was a mundane grey, but this did not seem to matter with the comfort of the glow.

The hall was being populated quickly, second years to seventh years filling the House tables and filling the hall with a buzz of chatter. As she approached the long staff table, which felt like a crime against her instincts, she quickly examined the Hufflepuff table to locate her youngest brother, Iwan. A prefect in his final year. It was unbelievable that she was back in Hogwarts before he had even left. Finally, her eyes found him; his sandy coloured curls bouncing atop his head as he turned his head to talk to multiple people. Iwan did not notice her, consumed in his eager discussions with friends he had not seen for weeks. Rhian felt a nervous smile creep across her lips, she was going to try her best not to embarrass him. She thought that would prove difficult anyway, since her and Iwan had always been on a similar page. Their brother Lloyd had continuously tried to distance himself from the pair while they had been at Hogwarts together; Lloyd was the  _negative_  Gryffindor stereotype through and through, too cool for association with book-worms. With the thought of red and gold house, her eyes began to sweep their table for a specific, identifiable feature. Heads of brilliant ginger hair, which provided a contrast against the crowd. She just about made out four of them; Percy, Fred, George, Ginny. Rhian felt an impulse to rush over and have a catch up, and ask where Ron was, but, re-kindling with the Weasleys would have to wait.  

She reached the table, and was beckoned by Professor Sprout towards an empty chair. Rhian saw Dumbledore, who was already sat down; the pair had a joint fleeting smile as she passed. She edged towards her chair, now sharing a smile with an unfamiliar man. He had light brown hair, a thin moustache, and his eyes had a trace of something Rhian could not quite place.

“This is our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Remus Lupin” Professor Sprout introduced, and Rhian instinctively held out her hand.

“Rhiannon Jones, I’m on a placement for the Wizarding Examinations Authority” she presented, sounding a little more formal than she would have liked. The pair shook hands as Rhian lowered herself into the seat, a little clumsily as her robes caught the top of the chair, raising them above her. She broke the handshake to hastily scoop the robes up so that they no longer made her look like she was trying to create some sort of tent. “Why they chose me I’ll never know” she mumbled, trying to mask the fact she was flustered.

“Pleasure to meet you” he responded with a small exhale of a laugh, but he said it with a quiet sincerity that made the young woman warm to him in an instant. “And I’m sure they would have sent only the best” he added. She watched as he turned up the sleeve of his robes slightly, and she noticed they were a little tattered. It was not something she lingered on, for the appearance of others was never her greatest concern. Instead, Rhian considered his statement for a moment; she had not given to much thought towards the possibility that she  _was_  the best for the position. Out of her peers, perhaps she was the most  _passionate_  about wizarding education. But was she the most intelligent, the most organised? No chance.

“Where in Wales are you from?” he asked, bringing her back into the moment. Rhian blinked confusedly, before realising that her accent gave her away.

“Oh, Porth. Not far out from Cardiff” she said with a hint of affection. Porth was not…idyllic, with its deprivation and routine cycles of life; but it  _was_ home.

“Can’t say I’ve ever ventured into Porth, but Cardiff is a lovely city. My mother was Welsh, she grew up there” he explained with his own tone of affection. Rhian noted on the past tense and offered a sympathetic look. Before she could form a response about whether he had been born in Wales, she felt someone sink into the empty chair to her right. She turned to face the individual, and recoiled with a start. It was none other than Professor Snape. The same cold expression, insidious eyes and jet-black hair; completely unchanged in four years.

“Miss Jones” he addressed curtly, staring at her as she attempted to make her sudden movement into something other than shock. Why his appearance had surprised her was a mystery, she knew he would turn up eventually.

“Professor Snape” she replied, testing him with a smile that he decided not to return, though she swore she saw the corners of his lips twitch hesitantly. She had experienced an unusual relationship with him while she studied at Hogwarts; unusual in general, but completely out of the ordinary for a Hufflepuff. She utterly despised him during her first three years and merely disliked him during her fourth and fifth. Things changed when Rhian had bravely approached the Professor for help on a History of Magic essay about figureheads in potion-making during her sixth-year. She may not have bothered for any other subject, but History of Magic was  _her_ subject. After a long-winded conversation in which he seemed almost happy to talk to her about  _his_  passion, she began to tolerate him. It helped that Iwan was exceptionally good at potions, and the last Rhian had heard, he was well on his way to an Outstanding at N.E.W.T level. Lloyd, on the other hand, had driven Snape up the dungeon walls, at least, that was the vibe she sensed whenever she had mentioned Lloyd to the Potions-Master. It was well-known that the fiery Gryffindor Jones’ sibling only had eyes and mind for Quidditch. Rhian had continued to approach Snape for help on topics she thought he may know something about, ranging from alchemy to dark-arts. However, she never pushing the boundary, and was always grateful for his time. It was peculiar, how she had begun to sense that Snape was not all he appeared in those conversations. Like everyone she encountered in life, people had a way of surprising you, and they were never as they seemed at face value. She broke eye contact after a moment, speculating whether he had raked his mind for those memories too. Rhian also wondered why she felt so...

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts, I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it’s better to get it out of the way before we all become befuddled by our amazing feast" Dumbledore began, his voice commanding the Great Hall. Rhian’s head snapped towards the direction of the Headmaster, a sudden apprehension in the pit of her stomach that she used to feel as a child. "Our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business" he paused. The teachers were all aware of Dumbledore's disdain of the Dementors. It was a feeling shared among adult and child alike, and Rhian felt her arms prickle at the thought of the hooded creatures. The fact that Black had escaped Azkaban was unnerving, even for the bravest of people.

"On a happier note, I am pleased to welcome three new members of staff to our ranks this year. Firstly, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher". There was some scattered applause, to which Remus smiled appreciatively and gave a little wave; Rhian glanced sideways towards Professor Snape, and it became clear from the look upon his face that he was not pleased with the appointment.

"Secondly, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures Teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to spend some time with his remaining limbs. I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other, than Rubeus Hagrid". The school hall, though notably less from the Slytherin table, erupted into thunderous applause. Hagrid was immensely popular and Rhian was over the moon. Her eyes were drawn to the Gryffindor table, where she finally spotted the missing Weasley – he was clapping triumphantly, as were his two friends either side of him. When the applause died down again, athough it took considerably longer this time, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Finally, I would like us all to give a warm welcome to one of our previous students, Rhiannon Jones” he began, and a murmur rose in the hall. “Miss Jones is an apprentice with the Wizarding Examinations Authority, and is here as a temporary liaison officer; someone to help coordinate exams in line with what the WEA would like us to, and with what the  _teachers_ would like to do” he explained, pausing to let the information sink in. “She'll be observing your lessons, and has informed me she's very happy to answer any questions or take any suggestions about them" he finished, to which there was a few gazes of interest and a spattering of confused applause. Rhian felt her cheeks flush and she decided the smallest of smiles and an acknowledgement in Dumbledore’s general direction as a response. That was a little painful.

The word feast was uttered, and food appeared at once.


	2. Cakes and Cocktails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who have read and given kudos so far, I don't deserve your time lmao. This is a small update in which we learn a bit more about Rhian, and we have some fun with Snape. Not sure how long I want chapters to be, definitely over a 1000 words at a time, but I'll try to reach 2,000 if I feel like its flowing right. Cheers all.

Rhian had never, ever forgotten just how delightful the food at Hogwarts was. She quickly realised, however, that the staff experience was going to be different. Their food arrived in courses, not as an all-you-can-eat frenzy practiced by the students. She peered down at a starter, a bowl of piping hot soup which was thick, and orange. Beside it, a small warm hunk of doorstop bread – yellowed with a thin layer of melted butter. The smell was enticing and she picked up her spoon to sample it. Its flavour was indistinguishable, but in the best way; a little like pumpkin, a little like carrot, and swede. She tore some of her bread to dunk greedily in her soup, almost forgetting about her surroundings. Food consumed her as much as she consumed it.

When she finished her soup, she noticed she had finished a little quicker than her fellows. Partly because, no doubt, they were talking to one another. Both Snape and Lupin were engaged with the people beside them; leaving her to mull over her empty bowl of soup. Solace came with the arrival of the main course; a roast dinner, complete with beef and Yorkshire pudding. It was then that Lupin turned to face her, smiling merrily. It seemed the soup had perked him up.

“I haven’t eaten this well in a while” he commented, cutting into his beef and then taking a swig of pumpkin juice. She could not share this thought. She normally ate well, both at home and while she lived at home. Food was an integral part of her day; proven by the little extra weight she carried around those most stubborn of areas. However, being active was also important for Rhian, which she was sure was the only reason she had not grown to the size of a house.

“I eat _too_ well” she retorted with a grin. “My mam, she runs a cake-baking business from the house. When I go home I’m always greeted with my favourite”.

“Which is?” he asked curiously,

“Carrot cake; cream cheese icing is my one true love” she replied, smiling dreamily as she ate a roast potato. “If there’s one in the house, I’m prone to pecking at it all day”.

“Good choice” he regarded with a smile. “Mine would have to be your standard Victoria, with a nice cup of tea” Lupin spoke from experience and Rhian thought, perhaps, his mother used to bake it for him. The young woman felt as though their conversation was being observed, and alas, turning her head, she saw Snape watching them. Before she gave him the chance to turn away, she grinned.

“How about you, Professor?” she asked, as he managed to pull off the perfect blank countenance.

“Excuse me?” he feigned ignorance, but Rhian saw through it.

“Your favourite cake” she insisted, her smile faltering somewhat. She could tell by the sudden cool expression adopted by Lupin since she invited Snape into the conversation, that he was uncomfortable. The school-girl within her wanted to know their whole history; something must have gone down between these fellas because they were sharing looks of purest _ice_.

“A cauldron cake, if you _must_ know” he quipped, re-joining the conversation he had just departed from with the person beside him. Rhian faced Lupin, raising her brows high and trying to stifle a laugh. She wondered if this was completely unprofessional, as though she was acting as one of the dozens of students before them. Thankfully, he shared her amused expression before the pair fell into discussion, finishing the main at a better pace than Rhian had eaten the starter.

Their conversation flowed steadily right through desert, which happened to be akin to an Eton Mess. The pair learned that they were both Pisces, for example. An interesting fact which illuminated the reason why, perhaps, they spoke to each other with ease. She could not help but give weight to the idea of star signs, ever since working out her own birth chart and seeing its accuracy reflect her reality. Rhian did not let them rule her, and she would have never brought it up unless the subject of birthdays occurred. It was fun to entertain it, and she was curious to know Snape’s sign. When she had said this in a low voice to Lupin, she had never expected him to answer. _Capricorn_.  

“At least, I think so. We were in the same year at school, his birthday was sometime early in January” Lupin explained quietly. Rhian leant her head in her hand for a moment, moving a bunch of her curls to the side; _of course, that’s how they know each other_. Her other hand was resting on her stomach, which she could feel had expanded from the meal.

“I’m feeling just as pessimistic as a Capricorn” she murmured. “Specifically, about how bloated I’m going to be tomorrow” she added with a groan, to which Remus chuckled. Upon reflection, Rhian knew why she was so comfortable in saying such things. It wasn’t because of star signs. It was because she liked to be open. Perhaps it was her natural intuition of how others felt that made her want to present herself so honestly, for she could normally tell when someone was not being true to themselves. It felt as though hours had passed, but as she looked up at the students, _they_ were still eating. With the wall of noise, they were making, it was unsurprising that it was taking them some time to finish.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dumbledore tap thrice on his goblet, though it made no sound. There was a small whooshing noise, and the goblets they had been drinking from emptied. In an instant, with the same noise, they refilled. Rhian and Lupin glanced at each other and the goblets with bemusement; they had different drinks inside. She picked up the goblet an examined its contents. She peered at it with intrigue; it was a pale orange colour tinged with red, full of ice and a slice of lime. She sniffed, and then beamed. Surely not? With a sip, she let out a rather loud laugh, which stirred Professor Snape.

“Something funny, Miss Jones?” he probed, taking a curt sip from his own goblet.

“I don’t know how Professor Dumbledore knew my favourite drink was a Sex on the Beach, but I’m glad he did” she praised. She heard Snape’s goblet meet the table with a sharp bang before she saw him staring at her in shock.

“A _what_?” he snorted. Rhian tried her utmost hardest to supress a fit of laughter.

“Orange juice, cranberry juice, peach schnapps and vodka” she recited with experience. “It’s just a name given to a Muggle cocktail” she explained, tipping the goblet against her lips for another sip.

“How _lewd_ ” he replied, his eyes studying her with disdain as she thought to herself how that was such a Capricorn response.


	3. To Pige Or Not To Pige

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an update for you all! Rhian sees the Weasley kids for the first time in a while, and we learn something interesting about her (that has NEVER EVER been done before with an OC /sarcasm). I'm not sure when I'm going to be updating next since I've got a very busy 2-3 week ahead, so if you're following this (for some reason lmao), I would suggest bookmarking just in case! A quick note on the Snape/Rhian situation, I don't know how long it will take us to get there, I'm honestly still working out how I want it all to happen without it being too cliche. Thanks for your continued support :)

Before Rhian knew it, this surprisingly pleasant evening was coming to a close. She felt a tiredness creep over her that she must have been supressing for at least an hour. The young woman watched the hordes of students slowly making their way out of the hall. She noticed that Iwan was looking back at her, and their eyes met. They wore matching tired smiles; both silently agreeing to speak tomorrow, since they had seen each other recently anyway. Rhian then noticed that the group of Weasleys were lingering; and she sat up straight. Were they waiting for her?

She turned to Professor Lupin with a grateful smile.

“It was lovely talking to you tonight, Professor. I was so worried about it being…well, weird. You’ve made tonight easy” she said truthfully, to which he waved a hand, though he looked a little stunned at her sincerity.

“Please call me Remus, we’re colleagues” he started, and Rhian inwardly flinched. She did not feel quite that comfortable, but she could maybe make an exception. After all, she had never been taught by him before, that made a difference. “I’ll be honest with you, I was a little concerned about how this evening would go. You’ve made it easy for me too” he explained. It was in that moment that a friendship had been made. The pair shared a brief farewell, and Rhian turned to her right. Professor Snape had already vanished, maybe in the time she had just been talking to Remus. She huffed, clearly he wasn’t that bothered; she wasn’t sure if _she_ was bothered.

“Rhiannon, a quick word?” Professor McGonagall chimed from the other side of the table, and Rhian quickly departed from her seat, moving around the large staff table. The pair stood at the top of the stone stairs that led up to it, near Dumbledore’s podium.

“I was meant to ask Severus to swap seats, but with the sorting and Dumbledore’s opening words I didn’t find the opportune moment” she explained. “It would have been lovely to have a catch up, but we’ve got plenty of time for that”.

“A whole year” Rhian commented, more to herself than McGonagall. It was a moment of reflection, a realisation that she really _was_ back.

“Exactly!” she clapped her hands together with a smile. “Anyway, come for eight tomorrow morning. We need time to go over your timetable, and you’ll need a Hogwarts breakfast for your first day” she said with earnest. Rhian felt her stomach turn over; she wasn’t sure if she ever needed to eat again after this evening. Something told her, however, once she was faced with breakfast, she’d gladly devour it. Her appetite was a problem she had attempted to curb many time, and the only real solution was to make sure she went on plenty of walks, and when she was in a Muggle area, attempted the gym. She smiled at the thought of someone like McGonagall in a gym, not maliciously of course, but out of sheer curiosity as to how the witch would react.

“I’ll be here” the younger woman confirmed. The pair exchanged a farewell, and Rhian was left on the stone stairs with the straggling teachers, facing the dwindling students. The group of red-heads, plus two strangers were still waiting. The only one missing was Ginny, whom she could only assume had been shepherded to bed as a second year. As she approached them, she could make out Percy’s voice – it cut through the light buzzing in the hall. The eldest Weasley, still within Hogwarts that is, was scolding his younger twin brothers. She heard him utter the phrase ‘Head Boy’ and a grin spread across her face. This was going to be highly entertaining.

Rhian was seen by one of the twins, who waved her over enthusiastically. “Alright, Pige?” he called merrily. Pige, short for pigeon, was a pet name that she had acquired since childhood. It was something that had become attached to her, and something she held in higher regard than most might have guessed, especially given that many assumed being called pigeon seemed slightly offensive. She stared at the twin who had spoken for a moment, and beamed.

“Alright, George?” she replied happily. He recoiled at once, and clutched Fred’s arm dramatically.

“You can tell us apart? Blimey, even Mum can’t do that sometimes!” he exclaimed. In all honesty, Rhian had just made an educated guess. She shrugged, and turned to Percy to address the inevitable.

“Congratulations on Head Boy, Perce” she offered with a genuineness that she hoped he picked up on. She had always liked Percy well enough; his uppity ways were confusing, given how his parents were particularly humble, and good-natured. Well, Mrs Weasley had her moments of pure fury. Rhian had seen plenty of them while she was at school. But, Percy’s heart was in the right place. He just wanted to do well.

“Oh, you noticed, did you?” Fred said sarcastically, gesturing towards the gleaming badge.

“Thank you” he replied, deciding to ignore his brother as his ears turned slightly pink. “How have you been? Are you enjoying being part of the Ministry?” he inquired promptly, moving the conversation away from his appointment, which she could tell was a little difficult for him to do.

“I’ve been good, yeah” Rhian started, running a hand through her curls before tucking it into the pocket of her robes. “Sometimes it’s a bit dull, to be honest. But, I work with nice people for the most part, so that makes it easier” she explained, though her eyes were drifting to focus on the others now. She stared at Ron, a little startled. He had grown so much since she last saw him. He was as tall as the twins, even before turning thirteen. She had always remembered his birthday, as they shared the same date.

“My god Ron, you’ve grown so much” she gaped, watching as he grinned lopsidedly. “You’ll be as tall as Bill” she suggested, to which Ron seemed fairly pleased about. Rhian’s gaze fell upon his two friends. The girl had a bushy head of hair that resembled a lion’s, which was very fitting for a Gryffindor. She had a slightly rounded face, though Rhian could tell it was simply from not growing into her body yet. The boy, shorter than Ron, had a head of jet-black hair that was so untidy that Rhian thought it might be a fashion statement. It was only when her eyes lingered that she noted the peculiar shaped scar, in the shape of a lightning bolt. Her eyes darted away from it at once, hoping that he hadn’t noticed that _she_ had noticed. Rhian could only imagine how often it happened to the boy who lived.

“Who might you two be then?” she asked politely. She thought it wise to give him a chance to introduce himself before she did the job for him. The girl, however, answered immediately.

“Hermione Granger, we’re friends of Ron” she gestured to the pair of them. The name rang in Rhian’s ears, and remembered a brief conversation she had with Professor Dumbledore over the summer when they spoke of her upcoming placement. He had actually mentioned Miss Granger; how she was the easily the brightest witch of her year. This was a statement Rhian had not taken lightly.

“It’s lovely to meet you!” she responded pleasantly. Then, she rounded on him. He looked taken aback with the requirement of saying who he was, so initially stumbled over his words.

“I’m Harry Potter” he faltered, and by instinct stuck out his hand. It must be the usual reaction. This caused Fred to stifle a laugh, but Rhian quickly took it before Harry had the chance to retract or feel embarrassed. She considered his startlingly green eyes for a moment, and wondered as many had before her, what he thought about, how he felt.

“It’s lovely to meet you too” she murmured, letting go of his hand and watching as he smiled slightly.

“Miss Jones” Hermione said suddenly. Hearing her being addressed as such by a child was strange. “Would I be able to ask you some questions about exams?” she asked politely. Ron stared at her with bewilderment.

“ _Hermione_ , she’s only just got here! Can’t it wait?” he stressed.

“I didn’t mean _now_ , Ron. I meant when Miss Jones is free” she snapped in response. Rhian tried to supress a smile; Ron’s attitude reminded her of how Bill could be on occasion.

“Miss Jones sounds wrong” George grimaced. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be referring to you as Rhian, or Pige of course”. Percy sighed, which caused the whole group to stare at him.

“You cannot call a member of staff by their _nickname_ ” he asserted, but before anyone could respond, it was Hermione who spoke next.

"Pige...as in pigeon?" she quizzed, looking amongst the group with confusion. It appeared Harry had been thinking the same, for he seemed as though he was waiting for the answer. "Yep. It came from my Dad; he always liked pigeons, thought they were unappreciated. Said there was something sweet about them; no matter how far away they flew, they always came back home" she recounted. The thought of it made her reminisce, and reminded her to write a letter home as soon as she got to the Three Broomsticks. "Bill came to visit a couple of times while we were at school, he picked it up from Dad, and then he passed it on to everyone else. Mr Weasley wouldn't refer to me as anything but Pige when it caught on" she explained, folding her arms across her chest.

"Hold on a minute, aren’t pigeons are known for being a bit dull?” Fred suggested cheekily, and Rhian’s arms unfolded at once and swatted one of them against his side with feigned anger.

"Less of that!" she jested. She noticed Percy looking perturbed, and she decided to finally respond the issue at hand. “When I’m in your classes, in front of other teachers, I think it’ll have to be Miss Jones, or Miss” she explained knowing she would have to be professional. “But between just us, anything goes” she added agreeably, to which everyone aside from Percy seemed satisfied.

Rhian observed the hall, which was almost empty aside from a few students who had lingered to speak to teacher’s. She lifted her sleeve to check her floral Muggle watch, and she goggled at the time. “Not sure where this evening has gone, but ah well” she sighed, giving the group around her a drained smile. “Bed time, I think” she suggested with a weariness that reminded her of her first evenings back at Hogwarts.

“Certainly! Especially _you_ three” Percy gestured at his youngest brother and his comrades. Ron gave him an insolent glare; he had clearly had quite enough of his brother’s heightened sense of authority, but perhaps did not feel strongly enough to challenge him. The group began to shuffle to the entrance hall, and Rhian found herself having to part ways.

“I’ll probably see at least a couple of you in lessons tomorrow” the young woman noted, seeing Hermione’s eyes flash with opportunity.

“G’night” chimed the twins in unison as they started to climb the staircase. There was a soft chorus of goodnights, and when they were all climbing the stairs, Rhian made her way to the front doors to the side of her. When she was outside, she was met with a cool breeze. The rain that had been lashing down earlier had thankfully stopped. She lifted the hood of her robe over her head regardless as she started down the path towards the gates. It was lit by floating lanterns this evening, but the glowing light did not allow for much comfort.

She wondered, for a moment, if she should even be out here _alone_. Hadn’t Dumbledore said that no one was to leave the castle unaccompanied? Of course, that must just apply to the students. The weight of her adult responsibility made her steps heavier. The gates had an even eerier chill about them, and she hovered in front of them, calculatingly. She knew she had a way of avoiding any unpleasant contact with the Dementors.

Carefully, she peered around her; she could not be seen. This was the one thing she had managed to hide from _almost_ everyone. It was the most reckless thing she had ever accomplished, and was certainly an irresponsible thing to conceal.

With the smallest whooshing noise, barely audible to anyone but the transfigured, Rhian had vanished. She was instead replaced with a small, rounded bird with a slightly lopsided posture. She flapped her wings unsteadily, rising into the air and crossing the threshold of the gate gingerly, her sights set on Hogsmeade.


	4. Butter Beer To Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how late this update is. I didn't think I'd be gone for the full amount of time I suggested! This chapter actually turned out to be pretty boring for anyone who just wants to see canon action aha. I just kept writing and writing all about this OC and I couldn't stop, so you learn a bunch about Rhian here! I've been thinking about the plot in a little more detail and its starting to take shape. I can reveal that Snape and Rhian will be getting down and dirty before the end of term, so this might not be as much of a slow burn as I intended! If you do by some miracle enjoy this rambling chapter, let me know. Thanks for your continued support!

Flying was a sensation that Rhian appreciated more than she could ever explain. It was simply freedom. Of course, it wasn’t effortless, but that did not matter. Being a pigeon also had its dangers with the occasional bird of prey swooping towards her for an attack. Luckily, she still had the thinking skills of a human and could evade them. Sometimes, it was almost as though she could communicate with birds too. Especially with other pigeons. This came in handy whenever she visited unknown towns and cities, pigeons always knew their way around.

She arrived in Hogsmeade and her beady eyes scanning the rooves of the buildings that lay below. Lights flickered in their windows, and the building that shone the brightest was, naturally, the Three Broomsticks. Rhian landed in a deserted alley and took a few casual steps in her avian form. She peered down at the strange, small three toed talons that always fascinated her, stretching them out one foot after the other. Once she was certain she was not in eyesight of anyone else, she transformed back into a human with an almost inaudible whoosh.

She peered downwards to check herself, feeling various parts of her body methodically. It was a habit she had gotten into even since she completed the process of becoming an Animagus. She had grown a bunch of feathers in the small of her back once, which she had to painfully pluck out herself. It must have been some strange falter in her magic, because it had never happened again; still, better safe than sorry. Rhian never worried about clothes, as she had quickly mastered keeping her human form’s garments intact during transformation. This was vital in being able to keep up the secret. Turning up naked somewhere would require some first class bullshitting that she knew she was not capable of.

She stepped out of the alley and into the street, glancing up and down. It was eerily empty. Hogsmeade was never this quiet, even on a ‘school’ night. A greater discomfort lay with the lanterns, which normally dotted the street with welcoming light, were instead snuffed out. However, the rain-sodden cobbled road still glistened from the light that the moon provided as it peeked occasionally from behind a cloud. The Three Broomsticks was just a few doors down across from the alley, and she could hear the punters within with their rambunctious talk and occasional sing-song. She started to cross the street, the sound of slightly raised navy shoes against the ground resonating above the inn’s wall of noise.

As she reached the door, a sudden chill made her jump in surprise. The hand which was stretched out and clasped around the handle became almost unbearably cold. Instinctively, she snapped her head round to face the long street, of which she could not see the horizon due to the darkness of the night. Rhian could see someone…something. Outlined by the faint moon was a hooded figure, large even from this distance. She knew what it was without having to peer any longer. Like a bolt of lightning had struck her, she twisted the handle and leapt inside, slamming the inn’s door behind her tightly. Warmth spread over her instantly. The buzz within the inn made it so only a couple of heads turned her way. One of these heads belonged to none other than Hagrid, who was undoubtedly surrounded by friends celebrating his promotion. His eyes took a moment to register who she was, and he lifted his mug heartily in her direction, absent-minded towards the liquid that splashed down his front as a result. Quickly pushing the thought of Dementors to one side she beamed and debated whether to talk to him. Her social group at school had enjoyed a friendly relationship with Hagrid, and she had reminisced with the groundskeeper in the Leaky Cauldron several times once she had left Hogwarts. However, these experiences had taught her a lesson; Hagrid could talk for a long, long time. Rhian thought of her comfortable bed that awaited her upstairs and slipped past the group and towards the bar. There was ample time for lengthy conversation with Hagrid over the next year.

She glimpsed Madam Rosmerta darting around to serve the pub-goers bearing her trademark smile. It was almost as though she was aware she had many admirers; Rhian being amongst them. The young witch often cited her first visit to the Three Broomsticks as the moment she realised that she _also_ found women attractive. Her curvaceous figure enticed all around her, but it was her fiery personality that sucked Rhian in even further. Rosmerta, in turn, glimpsed Rhian and approached her from behind the counter.

“Everything go well up at the castle, my lovely?” she asked, managing pour several pints of mead as she spoke. The heat that prickled under Rhian’s cheeks was an unfortunate side effect from Rosmerta’s words, which meant very little in reality. Maybe it was the overwhelming sense of dread that she had just experienced out in the street that made her so susceptible to embarrassment, as it took Rhian a moment to even think of a response.

“Uh, yeah. It went well” she replied, fidgeting with a wooden coaster that lay atop to the bar. “The feast was excellent” Rhian added, which made the innkeeper’s eyes light up in desire.

“I bet it was” she said longingly, a hazy look in her eyes that Rhian interpreted as Rosmerta’s nostalgia about her own Hogwarts feasts. She snapped back to reality, lifting a bottle from beneath the bar and pushing it across the counter. “You take this butter beer up to your room and you get some shut-eye, if I know Minerva McGonagall, she’ll be havin’ you up there bright and early” the older woman explained with a smirk. Before Rhian could thank her, she had dashed away. As she clasped the neck of the bottle and turned towards the stairs, Rhian wondered what would be worse; her Animagus status becoming know and being sent to Azkaban for however long her sentence might be, or her sexual preference becoming public information. She shuddered to think of either scenario.

She climbed the stairs and followed the corridor to her room. When she reached it, she fished into the pocket of her robes for her wand. It was about 10 ½ inches, wonderfully flexible and made of madrona; an American wood that Ollivander had described as rare in British wand-making. Feather detailings were carved around the slightly enlarged handle. She was proud of her wand, _and_ its phoenix feather core. It had served her marvellously well. She tapped the handle of the door twice; since she was staying for so long, Rosmerta had suggested that the lock should be enchanted so that her wand could open it with ease. Rhian thought this a clever idea as there would be no keys to lose. As she stepped across the threshold, she observed the room; it was how she left it, untidy. In her process of getting ready she had strewn several items over the floor and over the small dresser. She lifted her wand as if to put the mess right by magic but decided against it. If she whipped her wand out for everything then she would become complacent, she knew she would. Instead, she sat upon the old oak chair at the dresser and quickly packed up the make-up she had left across the desk-space. She pushed her cosmetics bag to one side and instead reached for some parchment and a quill. Rosmerta had already opened the butter beer for her, and as Rhian dipped her quill into her ink, she took a chug of the sweet liquid.

Rhian began scribbling away, recounting the events of the evening in detail. Despite her tiredness she knew she wanted to get this sent promptly; she could picture her Mum and Dad the next day waiting for her owl to arrive. After tonight’s letter, she promised fortnightly updates at the very least.  Rhian was close to her parents; the fact they were Muggles meant very little to her whatsoever, at least, in a negative light. They had been incredibly accommodating of the fact all three of their children turned out to be magical, and had managed to support them through it, in the face of having little to no resources to do so. She had them to thank for making sure she still had a foot in the Muggle world; well, them, and a health issue that had always been treated by Muggle doctors rather than the wizarding sort. These two factors meant that Rhian had always been able to balance worlds successfully during her school years and beyond. She fashioned a story to tell her primary school friends about getting a scholarship to a boarding school, which wasn’t even far from the truth. She kept her Muggle friends right throughout her time at Hogwarts by meeting up with them during the holidays. While they had drifted apart now, she was still in contact with Lowri, the only one to know her true identity. On a spare piece of parchment, Rhian scribbled herself a reminder to send Lowri a letter soon. Hastily, she added the names of three others – it had been too long since she had written to any of her closest friends. Bill’s name seemed to flash back at her, and Rhian was lost momentarily in thought.

A familiar tapping noise brought her round as she spotted her owl pecking at the glass of the window. She had the feeling he had been there for a while, waiting her to come to him. Quickly folding the letter and tucking it into an envelope, she wandered over the window and opened the latch. Tylluan, her tawny owl, drummed his talons impatiently on the ledge; he did, however, give her hand an irritated but affectionate nip.

“Have a safe journey Tyll” she cooed, holding the letter out for the owl to hold with his beak. In a flurry of feathers, the owl had gone. He was a very independent bird and had never gotten much use out of his cage. Rhian remembered the first time she transformed into a pigeon in front of him; he had twisted his head frantically and squawked at her in fury. When he had overcome his shock, she had flown with him a few times. While she could not communicate with him _directly_ , it felt as though they could understand each other on a basic level. With a snap, she closed the window by its latch and drew the curtains, draining the last of the butter beer from the bottle she was still holding.

She undressed, taking off the gorgeous navy robe with a little more care than she gave other clothing items, and placed it over the dresser chair. Once she had taken off her dress, tights, and most importantly her bra, she reached for an oversized Muggle t-shirt from the folded pile on the floor at the end of her bed. She pulled it over her before entering her small bathroom attached to the room. Rhian had done some quick magic to modernise it when she arrived; she had become so used to showers that the idea of using a tin tub was…unappealing. She had given the sink and toilet a quick makeover too, and while it did not match the room whatsoever, the transfiguration was a necessity. She conducted her usual bedtime routine, examining her tired reflection as she brushed her teeth.

When she finally clambered into her bed, it was sweet relief. Her head rested against the soft feathered pillows and she felt as though if she were to close her eyes now, she would drop off in an instant. Instead, she reached over to the bedside cabinet for the Sony Discman upon it. It was a crime to not listen to at least a couple of songs before she went to sleep, no matter how tired she was. The CD player was the best present she had ever received, and another tie to the Muggle world that she could not imagine living without. She grabbed the attached headphones and put them on, powering up the Discman and letting whatever was playing before restart. It was Whitney Houston’s second album, and the lyrics of _I Wanna Dance With Somebody_ started filling her ears. The song reminded her of the summer of 1990; she had been well into her travels around the wizarding world by then. She had met her African tour guide in Nairobi; a simply enchanting witch who was also an Animagus, though she could transform into a lioness. She certainly as something of a lion. After a drunken evening, in which Rhian had given renditions of several Muggle songs including a couple of Whitney’s, they had started a fling that would last the whole month she spent in the continent. Rhian knew she had never truly _loved_ Inyoni, it was just a month of fun. Nevertheless, she often wondered what the witch was doing now, and whether she paid as much thought to their antics as Rhian did.

Relationships had been a peculiar aspect of Rhian’s life thus far, and as she pulled the headphones from her ears, she considered all three of them. She _had_ been in love, she _hadn’t_ been in love, and she had _pretended_ to be in love. The question in her mind bubbled amongst her sleepy thoughts; whatever would the next one bring?


	5. Morning Routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I'm so bad at time management lol. This is a bit of a weird update; I've just been writing when I can, and I realised that I would have uploaded something like a 3500 word chapter if I didn't post this little bit first. Its nothing too exciting, just setting up Rhian a little more. The next chapter will have dialogue with Snape (I can promise you that as its already been written!). The next chapter also delves into an original idea (I think its original) that I still need to wrap around my own head to be able to explain it to you all. So I apologise if this little chapter is a bit boring and that it doesn't move us forward all that much - thanks for continuing to follow despite my hopelessness!
> 
> EDIT (16.09.18) Realised there were numerous writing errors, was so desperate to upload something that I barely proof-read. I've gone through and made some changes. I think I need to start taking this fanfic seriously because I just word vomit and upload - the pacing is definitely going to be a problem over the next few chapters, so I apologise in advance.

As dim sunlight creeped through the cracks in the curtains of Rhian's room, the young woman stirred. Her first instinct was to pull a scowl; waking up was hardly ever pleasant, and if she had her way she would close her eyes and fall back to sleep. She reared her head, her curls surrounding her face like a wild mane – she reached out for her watch she had left on the bedside cabinet, her hand almost knocking the Discman to the floor. It was quarter to seven, which gave her just over an hour to get ready and get to the castle. Rhian’s body clock was usually reliable thanks to her avian likeness. She went through a phase of waking at exactly five o’clock for about a year; thankfully, going back to sleep was never an issue.

She kicked away the duvet with a sigh. She had been having the strangest dream about becoming an Animagus. Specifically, the potion preparation element of the ordeal - in the dream, she never managed to complete it. In real life however, thanks to some outside help, it had only taken her three months. She may have accomplished it in one, had it not been for two mistakes in a row; she swallowed the all important mandrake leaf the first time after laughing so hard that the charm she had performed on the roof of her mouth to keep the leaf in place faltered. The second time, she had awaited the next full moon with anticipation, only to find that the clouds obscured it the night she was meant to perform the final stage. It was a bloody nightmare, but well worth the effort.

Rhian heaved herself out of the four-poster and staggered to the bathroom. She squinted at the cubicle shower she had created out of the tin bath yesterday, and realised it had retained its tin colouration and a strange curved shape at the edges. There was no specific spell for the transfiguration she had performed; a bit of guesswork and spell modification had to make do. All in all, however, it was functional. After her quick shower, she picked up a large fluffy Three Broomsticks towel and wrapped it around her tightly. She moved towards the sink to brush her teeth and examined her reflection in the mirror, the shower had breathed some much needed life into her face. Rhian plonked herself down at her dresser for the make-up process, which she had decided was going to be very minimal. Just enough to make her feel comfortable with the way she looked.

Before she applied anything, she picked up her wand and waved it towards the curtains, which opened a fraction to allow some more light into the room. She could make out an overcast sky.

“Accio Discman” she called, pointing her wand over her head towards the bed. The CD player, which had the wire of the attached headphones wrapped around it, zoomed across to her and she caught it with her wand hand. She placed the Muggle equipment in front of her, turned it on, pressed play and let the music play quietly through the headphones. She liked to listen to something while she did her make-up. Spotting the wireless radio upon the chest of drawers beside the dresser, she reminded herself to listen to the magical news tomorrow; music was great, but she had to keep up especially with Black on the loose. She had finished her make-up within ten minutes and packed it away again; she’d rather come back to a tidy desk-area as she had no doubt there would be written work to do. She stood up and worked her way over to the wardrobe, opening the double doors and examining the contents. Her black ‘WEA’ embroided robe was today’s choice, and underneath a pair of tight black trousers and a mustard yellow blouse which had a ribbon tie around the front. House pride for the first day back was vital. Rhian reached into the wardrobe to fumble with the two little drawers, which contained her underwear. She fished out a white bra which would not show through the blouse, and a pair of her trusted black briefs. Nothing could beat the comfort of a full brief. Anyone who said anything different was lying. Pretty underwear, or particularly stringy underwear, was reserved only for suitable occasions; using it daily seemed outrageous.

Dropping her towel, she quickly changed into her laid out clothes. She resumed her position in the chair facing the dresser, examining the mass of wet hair against her shoulders and back. Rhian pressed the off button on her Discman; she didn’t fancy letting the battery run dry – especially since she had forgotten the battery packs, which were probably laying in her old room back in Porth. She picked up her wand and murmured the incantation for the Hot-Air charm, pointing the tip at her head. Her other hand found her hairbrush, and working in tandem with her wand, her hair was soon dry and wavy. These waves would develop into curls as soon as she got out into the open and she knew she’d have to wrestle with it throughout the day.

Rhian quickly tidied up the room albeit half-heartedly. In some ways she was very ordered; her work, for example, was always organised to a t. Her home on the other hand, well, it just was not as important. However, this room did not belong to her and she was barely paying keep – making sure it was presentable, even for herself, was the least she could do. She noticed the potted plant that Professor Sprout had given her as she pulled back the curtains fully; she pushed it to the centre of the window sill and reminded herself to move it in front of the curtain during the night, she had not seen it glow yet. Rhian pulled on her new black robe and picked up a satchel bag containing all her essentials for the day; it sported a small daffodil patch which had been sewn into the corner. She wondered, as she hastily threw the bed rug across the mattress of the four-poster, about what her first day would actually entail. Rhian sped back over to the dresser to pick up her wand, had one last look in the mirror, and _finally_ left the bedroom.


	6. Daft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this, another upload? WITHIN A DAY OF THE LAST? I thought since the way the plot was moving wasn't working anyway, I'd just throw this out there so I can finally move onto my idea that still needs fleshing out (I said it would be in this chapter, but it's not - it'll be in the next). Its all to do with how the teachers in Hogwarts are actually able to teach all their classes. It probably won't make a lot of sense even when I do have it worked out, but I'm doing it more for me than I am for the story. Hope this upload is more interesting than the last!

Rhian checked the Muggle watch around her wrist as she tapped the door handle with her wand; it was just gone half past seven, which gave her plenty of time to walk to the castle. She bounded down the stairs and entered the pub. It was _almost_ empty. There was a middle-aged maid whose ginger hair stuck out in wisps and face sagged in a constant state of displeasure; Rhian had seen her before but have never caught her name. She was wrestling with a couple of brooms which seemed to have acquired a mind of their own in order to give the floor a sweep. The older witch peered up from the brooms and squinted her eyes to peer at the younger; instinctively, Rhian offered her a good morning. The droopy witch grunted in response, and Rhian decided this must be normal behaviour and simply made a bee-line for the door, her satchel bouncing against her hips. When she swung the door open, the morning breeze swept back her hair. As she stepped out onto the cobbled street and started to make her way along the familiar route, the light chill in the air reminded her of last night’s encounter. She felt silly for being fearful; surely Dementors knew their role, knew what job they played. Even if it had gotten closer to her last night, it would not have harmed her; they were under Ministry control. However, Rhian took comfort in the fact that everyone found them unnerving.

The route up to the castle was one filled with memories. Hogsmeade weekends had been some of the best at Hogwarts; her little group of four would make their rounds of the shops and always spend a little too much money. At the beginning of fifth year, they began sneaking to the Hog’s Head to bargain with the bartender to let them have some Fire Whiskey. Usually he was so impressed that they even dared to come in, that a little glass was not too much to ask. On one occasion, half-way through seventh year, they were spotted by Professor Sprout as they left the Hog’s Head. They were doing a fantastic job until Rhian, and her fellow Hufflepuff Alfie, had started hiccupping and smoking from the nose. Miraculously, Professor Sprout had _laughed_ before saying the Fire Whiskey probably hadn’t been aged and that they’d be losing five points each. Bill, and his fellow Gryffindor Freya, had been untouched by the substance but Professor Sprout had no doubt they had drunk it. The fire whiskey tradition had been of Bill’s making; Rhian often wondered how he maintained a reputation at Hogwarts that surpassed many. His irrefutable charm probably played some part in his achievement of Head Boy. Thinking of Bill, and the other’s, reminded Rhian that she needed to write to them as soon as possible; no doubt they’d be interested in her role in Hogwarts _and_ any behind the scenes gossip that she might garner.

Before Rhian knew it she was re-entering the castle grounds which were enveloped in a light mist. She could see from a distance that the door to Hagrid’s hut was slightly ajar, and the greyish blob of Fang, his boarhound, who was lying across the steps. She wondered how his head was after last night’s drinking, but given Hagrid’s size, she was sure he could handle it. After the climb up the forward-facing hillside path and the walk across the stone square, she reached the main entrance, which was open as usual to allow the eventual flow of pupils as they made their way from point A to point B. She stepped over the threshold of the mighty doors and beelined for the Great Hall, watching as numerous ghosts slowly glided in that direction to be present for breakfast. Rhian often pondered how difficult it would be to watch food being consumed as ghost, perhaps because she was so enamoured by food and could not imagine an existent without it.

Coming from various directions were a few strands of pupils who were the early birds. They were mostly first years, some of whom in their excitement to start their first day had failed to brush hair or tie the clasp on their robes. She offered those who caught her eye a small smile, before passing them as they began sitting at their house tables. Rhian hesitantly continued up to the head table, a habit that would take a great deal of getting used to. Automatically, she looked for a friendly face; with a wash of relief she spotted Remus, who had numerous spare seats beside him, in conversation with Professor Burbage. Rolling back her shoulders under her robes, she started up the stone steps and made a bee-line for the seat beside Remus. Before she could make it around the table in time, another teacher had swooped past and slid into the seat. The teacher, of course, had to be Professor Snape.

Rhian found it curious that he had chosen to sit _there_ , given the sense of dislike she observed between the two professors. As she neared the seat next to Snape, she wondered for a moment whether it would look rude to sit one place away from him. Deciding at once that it _definitely_ would look rude, she slipped into the seat and took off her satchel, placing it at her feet. When she sat back up, she noticed Snape passing Remus a large vial of some sort of potion. When Remus thanked him, Snape responded with a nonchalant murmur before rounding on Rhian’s curious face.

“Good morning, Miss Jones” he greeted dryly as he poured dark, earthy coffee from a jug into a goblet. Wizarding coffee was nowhere near as refined as the Muggle version, and Rhian had steered well clear of it unless she was absolutely desperate for a pick-me-up. When Snape proceeded to drink the liquid without sugar or milk, her throat became dry through the sheer thought of it. She reached for another jug, peering at its contents to discover pumpkin juice and he poured herself a goblet.

“Good morning, Professor” she echoed, as though he was greeting her outside of a classroom; instead, they were sat at the teacher’s table having breakfast. As she sipped her pumpkin juice, it occurred to Rhian how peculiar it really was. She peered out at the mass of students which had now made their way into the hall and began their breakfast, feeling as though she should be among them. She found her brother at the Hufflepuff table spooning various breakfast foods into his mouth with vigour. Iwan definitely shared her love of food. There was a similar assortment of items along the teacher’s table, from thick-cut bacon to scrambled eggs, English muffins to light pastries; the first-day nerves that Rhian had tried to supress were creeping their way into her stomach, and suddenly, nothing seemed appealing. She stared urgently at the stacks of food, she had to have _something_.

“Sorry, uh, would you be able to pass that plate of toast please?” she asked the potions master awkwardly. He peered up from the small book he had been reading upon the table, lips curling into a smug smirk.

“What ever happened to a simple point of a wand to summon a slice? Or has four years out of Hogwarts caused some kind of memory loss?” he wondered loftily, though still picking up the plate and placing it on an empty patch of table between them. Rhian might have found his comment amusing if this had not been Snape she was talking to; everything he said seemed to be out of a self-serving malice that she could never understand. It was present even in their long-winded conversations about potion-making academia back in her sixth-year; he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Well, if I was sat at the breakfast table at home and got my wand out _just_ to make a piece of toast which sat _just_ out of arms reach away from me fly into my hand, my Dad would say I’m dwp” Rhian informed, picking up a slice of toast to butter it. She hadn’t meant to sound quite as sassy as she did, and the nervous feeling in her stomach was instantly magnified. Inwardly, she attempted to pull herself together and give herself a gentle reminder that he couldn’t scold her for her attitude, or tone of voice, she was an _adult_ now. She wasn’t back in first year Potions being humiliated whenever she put a toe out of line. She noticed Snape looking perturbed and wondered whether it was from said attitude or the Welsh phrase she had used; probably both.

“Daft” she confirmed, watching him as he closed his book.

“Sounds more applicable to your idiotic brother” he suggested, taking a sip of the dwindling amount of coffee in his goblet. Rhian swallowed a bite of her toast a little too quickly, eye’s widening as she tried to clear her throat. “I’m referring to Lloyd, not the present Mr Jones” he added in confirmation, though this was fairly obvious. The young woman had just been taken aback that Professor Snape was so quick to insult a family member; then again, it was _Lloyd_ – he had been quite the handful, especially in potions. Rhian took a gulp of pumpkin juice before letting her face drop into a frown.

“He’s not daft” she contended defensively. “Potions wasn’t…his strong suit”.

“That might have been acceptable if he _had_ a strong suit in any other worthwhile subject” he condemned. She eyed him with surprise; how closely had he been paying attention to the members of her family? She was ready to bite back with his long list of achievements in Quidditch, Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology but Snape spoke again. “At least your parents produced _one_ child capable of remotely understanding the art of potion-making”. Rhian pursed her lips; it was true that Iwan possessed a talent in potion-making – but Snape was acting as though she had never produced a functional potion in her life. “Speaking of which, Miss Jones, you will be observing double Potions with my seventh-year N.E.W.T class today” he remarked. He apparently knew more about her timetable than she did too.

“Well” she started, picking at the half-eaten slice of toast which now lay upon her plate. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing some advanced potion-making, even if I won’t _remotely_ understand it”. Despite her annoyance, she was genuinely looking forward to observations of any kind, even if it meant having to return to that unnerving dungeon classroom. Time spent with her brother was an obvious bonus. She could see Snape formulating a response to her sarcasm, but a sudden swoosh of emerald green robes distracted them both and offered a welcome sigh of relief of Rhian, who realised who it was at once.


End file.
